March came in like a lion and left the door open

It’s blowed like a banshee for weeks

I saddle and ride like some kind of robot

She builds up a temper and shrieks

The constant thrumming that grates on my skin

And pulls on my collar and coat

Like an EPA leech that’s hooked to my lungs

And blowin’ its breath down my throat

I squint through the haze for a sign of the bunch

I’m s’posed to be checkin’ the stock

But great herds of sagebrush stampede through the dust

And often a cow is a rock.

My patience wears thin and my horse bears the brunt

Of frustration rubbin’ me raw

I’ve ground my pore teeth ‘til they’ve taken an edge

My reins hand is stiff as a claw

And there ain’t no relief in the bunkhouse at night

It howls and the demons rave on

It whistles and moans through the cracks in the wall

‘Til all hope of sleepin’ is gone

My ears ache like crazy. My hair even hurts

The drumming plays on in my head

It pounds until mornin. It takes all my strength

To get up and git outta bed.

I’m dry as a mummy and I plan to get up, but

It’s easy to rationalize

And the horses need fed and walked to the creek

So I clean the dirt from my eyes

And walk to the door. I hear the wind knockin’

I’m filled with a big dose of dread

I sag in my boot tops, it’s miserable out

Ya know, I could braid rawhide instead

The boss ain’t comin’ for a couple more days, but

The code says a cowboy should ride

Come hell or high water, but I think today

I’ll just be miserable...inside

Baxter Black is a cowboy poet, former large animal veterinarian and entertainer of the agricultural masses. As he puts it, “he has a narrow following, but it’s deep!” He resides in Benson, Arizona. Additional information about him can be found at baxterblack.com.